


A Brief Essay on Lemons and Lemonade

by TheRoseBlush



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Chronic Pain, M/M, Zukka Week 2021
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-28 19:14:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30144282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRoseBlush/pseuds/TheRoseBlush
Summary: He doesn’t need to justify his pain. That’s something he’s learned, recently. It wasn’t a sudden moment of clarity, but an unlearning of what he’d been raised to believe. There isn’t always a reason, there isn’t always an ultimate force acting behind something. Sometimes, you just get handed a lemon by life and you realize lemons just… kind of suck.
Relationships: Sokka/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 28





	A Brief Essay on Lemons and Lemonade

**Author's Note:**

> CW for ableism

Sometimes he knows when the pain is going to come. He’ll do something knowing full well that the next day, his leg will ache and going about his day will become a chore. He understands that. He knows there is a clear cause, and he knows what the outcome will inevitably be.

There are times when he knows the next day will be tough because he checks his phone and sees that it’s going to rain. With rain comes the familiar ache that settles in his bones, this he knows. He can anticipate it, and if he’s lucky, sometimes counteract it.

Then there are days when he wakes up and there’s no apparent cause for the pain he’s feeling, but it’s still there. When he’s lucky, it’s a dull ache that he can pretend isn’t really there. But sometimes he wakes up and there’s a howling ache throughout his leg and he has to fight to get himself out of bed.

When he first broke his leg, 15 and foolish, he didn’t know what it would spiral into. But now he’s 21, and he’s developed a limp that people like to point out to him (“oh, I knew something was wrong with you right away,” someone told him once, “you don’t walk quite right. It’s weird. Your legs look wrong when you move.”). People will say this like they’ve won a prize for realizing it, as if it’s not something he’s acutely aware of. Sometimes he catches himself trying to walk without a limp, so that nobody will notice something’s wrong and point it out. He hates having that conversation.

He knows, logically, that it’s not ill intentioned. It’s not like the people who give him dirty looks and questioning stares when he’s having a particularly bad day and needs to use a cane to get around. Those looks always convey distrust that he must be running some sort of a scam, a cry for attention, because why would someone so young and healthy  _ need _ a mobility aid? (Every now and then someone is brave enough to say that to his face, and it takes everything in him not to break down and cry). 

But it cuts deep. Everytime. There’s a voice in Sokka’s head that whispers to him on the days where his leg doesn’t hurt and he’s able to do everything he used to be able to do. It tells him that maybe he  _ has _ been faking it. Maybe he’s being overdramatic, because somebody else definitely has it worse. If it were real, wouldn’t it be there every moment of every day? (It is, but he doesn’t remember that when he’s spiraling). 

And then, as inevitable as the sun rising and setting each day, the pain returns. Sometimes he thinks,  _ I’m not crazy, this is real, _ and feels a wave of melancholy satisfaction crash into him because he’s been validated, but at what cost? On those days, Zuko will pull him close and remind him that it’s okay to feel conflicted because the world trains you to invalidate your own pain.

He wakes this morning, and he runs through what he could’ve done to trigger a flare up. Nothing stands out to him. He wants to scream. Zuko, who was already awake, brushes Sokka’s hair out of his face and asks if he wants a warm compress. Sokka agrees.

He sits up slowly, back against the headboard of their bed. He decides to make a list of what he needs to get done today, and what he can do another day. That’s something Zuko taught him-- he doesn’t have to conquer the world overnight. It’s okay to break the day down into digestible pieces. It’s okay to not be perfect.

Zuko comes back, presses the compress against his leg, and plants a kiss on his forehead. He’s brought some painkillers back with him, just in case. He doesn’t have to say anything, because Zuko understands that there isn’t much to say.

Eventually, Sokka hauls himself out of bed, grabs his cane, and wanders into their kitchen. It’s a weekend, so they don’t have much to do. He thinks maybe they could watch a movie and order shitty food and call it a date night. When he tells Zuko that, he’s greeted with the soft smile that’s reserved for  _ him,  _ and a kiss on the cheek. Sokka keeps the memory of that smile locked safe in his heart, hoping he never has to miss it one day.

He doesn’t feel guilty for having a flare up today. When he first started having them, he used to try and cover them up, feeling all the world an inconvenience to those around him. He doesn’t now, because he’s older and a little wiser. He used to think he could just will the pain away. Now he recognizes that it’s a part of him, and that thought is scary but it’s also calming, in a sense. Sure, it would be nice if his pain didn’t linger in his shadow, but that’s just not who he is.

It’s been years, but he’s learning to live with this. The anger has faded from a fiery red to a smokey grey in the distance. He knows now that sometimes it’s braver to not do something than to try and power through. There’s no shame in not being able to do something. It does not detract from his worth as a person. Besides, nobody can do everything and he shouldn’t expect that of himself.

It’s not better because of Zuko, but Zuko has made it so much easier. There’s no judgement when Sokka admits he can’t do something. He doesn’t feel like he’s letting Zuko down, because Zuko will happily ask him what he was  _ up _ to doing instead. Because he cared more about getting to spend time with Sokka than what they were planning on doing. 

When he’s curled up on their couch, pressed warm and safe into Zuko’s side, Sokka thinks this is what life is about. Finding people who make you feel safe. It’s not about Zuko healing him, because Sokka’s old enough to know that he doesn’t need someone else to heal him, but about having people around who give you the space and encouragement to heal. Zuko is there for the highs and the lows, free of judgement. 

He doesn’t need to justify his pain. That’s something he’s learned, recently. It wasn’t a sudden moment of clarity, but an unlearning of what he’d been raised to believe. There isn’t always a reason, there isn’t always an ultimate force acting behind something. Sometimes, you just get handed a lemon by life and you realize lemons just… kind of suck. You’ll still make lemonade because that’s all you can do. But you’re allowed to be upset that you got handed lemons. 

He used to think of bravery differently when he was younger, trying to split himself in a hundred different directions to keep his family afloat. He knows that bravery is often displayed in the quiet moments, the ones that no one sees. Bravery is not often a grand gesture. It is a hundred million little things, but it’s not the things he gets complimented for by strangers (as if he is brave for daring to exist in a world that doesn’t accommodate him, because the status quo is to presume incompetence).

Bravery is confronting your emotions. Bravery is letting someone in and realizing the weight of the world does not have to be carried on your own shoulders. It’s asking for help. It’s knowing when to act and when to let things be. He’s a grown up, now, and he knows better than he did six years ago. 

Zuko knows this, knows that Sokka will ask for help when he needs it. Zuko knows, because he has his own struggles, too. And Sokka will be there for him when he asks. That’s just how they work. Lemons and lemonade, roses and thorns. The kind of vulnerable that comes with loving someone so wholly and entirely that their insecurities slip into nothingness.

He watches, safe in Zuko’s embrace, as the day melts into night. He doesn’t know what tomorrow will bring, but it doesn’t matter. Everything that matters is tucked safely in his heart.

**Author's Note:**

> Excuse the projection onto fictional characters, but I saw this prompt and I knew I wanted to write something for it. This is pretty much just based on my own experiences (featuring some fun things people have actually said to me that I carry with me to this day).   
> I don't want to speak on behalf of others, because my experience in the disabled community is limited to chronic pain/illness, but I did want to get a bit at the idea that disabled people are brave simply for existing.   
> I really recommend taking the time to look into what inspiration porn is and learning about how ableism functions in our society if you haven't before.


End file.
